


Gasping

by femmenoire



Category: Cold Case
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 16:28:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11234811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femmenoire/pseuds/femmenoire
Summary: Kat works a cold case, while her thing with Curtis Bell heats up.





	1. Begging

She wasn’t technically a Cold Case.

When they found August Brown’s body in the winter of 1992, frozen solid, everyone just assumed she’d died from exposure. She was 16 and wild. Her mother, Amara Brown, hardly knew what to do with her. She wouldn’t listen. She barely went to school. She came home when she wanted and was certainly not above stealing a few bucks for alcohol and weed from her mother’s purse.

The truth: there was really nothing anyone could do. Her father worked two jobs and was only ever home a few hours a day to sleep. Her mother’s evening shift at the local diner meant that the kids had to fend for themselves. As often happens, somebody had to slip through the cracks. In the Brown house, it was August. 

She fell in with the wrong crowd and seemingly overnight changed from the sweet, shy, slightly awkward bony little girl to a… demon. That was the only way Amara could describe the thing that took over her baby girl. Her firstborn. Her favorite.

Every morning for close to a year she sat alone at the dining room table, waiting for August to stumble in, wondering how long it’d be before she never came home again.

Ten months. It was ten months from the day Amara first smelled marijuana on August’s clothes until that knock on the door.

They’d found her, _my August_ , frozen solid in the snow. All alone. 

*** 

“Excuse me,” Amara said softly as another cop passed her by.

She’d thought long and hard about this. It had been 17 years since she lost August and while she knew there was no point opening such an old wound, she just… she just had to.

“Excuse me,” she said again a little louder this time as two lady cops, one white, one black, walked through the doors. They turned expectantly towards her.

“Can I help you,” the white one asked. Her blonde ponytail swayed softly as her head bounced to look Amara directly in the eyes.

“I…I…” she stammered. Her throat felt dry and tight as she tried to form the words. It’d been so long since she’d spoken about any of this, and suddenly she wasn’t sure if she could do it.

“It’s ok,” the black one said softly, reaching out to lightly grasp her elbow and steer her into a chair at the closest desk. “Take your time.”

“I… My daughter Au-, my daughter,” she finished lamely, pushing a picture of August into the black cop’s hands. 

It was Amara’s favorite. They took it when August was 10, at the local park. She had on a bright yellow dress with pink and white tulips. Her favorite flower. 

“My name,” she ground out painfully, “is Amara Brown.” She could feel the tears building and welcomed the pressure, using it to spur her on. “And this is my daughter, August.”

***

“I hate the ones with kids,” Detective Lilly Rush exhaled as she filled out a requisition form to exhume August Brown’s body 

“I hate the ones with mothers,” Detective Kat Miller said absentmindedly, staring at the crime scene photo of August Brown, her eyes jumping to the clutter of photographs Mrs. Brown had dumped on her desk. 

“So what do you have?” Lieutenant Stillman boomed, snapping Miller out of her daze.

“August Brown, boss,” Rush began. “January 21, 1992, neighborhood kid… uh, Philip Stephens, found her behind a dumpster on State street. There were no signs of a struggle, no broken bones, nothing showed up in her blood work except some booze, twice the legal limit, and marijuana. M.E. listed the cause of death as exposure. Probably got high and laid down, not realizing how cold it was, it snowed and she just… slipped away in her sleep.” 

“So what’s new?” 

“Mother came in today,” Miller said, rising slowly from her desk, with a picture of August still unconsciously clutched in her hand. “She got a letter in the mail yesterday from a Kevin Weeks, one of August’s friends. He found God and wants to atone for his sins. He said…” she shifted the photographs to the side with her right hand and grabbed the letter. “He said he was with August the night she died. She was drunk and a little high, but definitely not messed up enough to just lay down and die. According to Kevin, last time he saw August she told him she was going home for coffee.”

“Mom said that was their ritual,” Rush interjected. “Every morning when she got back from her late shift, August would be up waiting for her with a pot of coffee. Girl time.”

“Well if she was going home to have coffee with her mother…” Stillman pondered.

“What stopped her from getting there,” Kat finished.

***

She gulped down the glass of water so fast her eyes started to leak.

“You ok mommy,” Veronica asked.

“Yea, I’m just…” She coughed loudly. “I’m just thirsty,” she finally croaked out. “My throat’s really… really dry.”

“Mmmm hmmm, sounds like you’re nervous to me,” Veronica said with enough attitude to make her mother pause and then… double over in laughter. And then groan in pain when her throat felt like it was being ripped to shreds. She coughed uncontrollably.

Veronica filled her mother’s water glass and pushed it across the counter with a worried expression on her face. Kat drank it gratefully.

“I’m fine, really,” Kat said soothingly, once she could breathe again, absently running her hand over her daughter’s soft hair. “Really.”

“He must be cute.”

“Finish your homework.”

*** 

She’d wanted to drive her own car to the restaurant, but ADA Curtis Bell insisted on picking her up. Well, he’d just ignored her when she said, “I can drive you know,” and told her he’d be at her place at 7:30 sharp.

She reached to open the door, but he beat her to it. He held it open and ushered her in. 

“I never pictured you for the chivalrous type,” she said, willing her body to ease gracefully, _gracefully_ , into his car.

“Gimme half a chance and I just might surprise you,” he said before shutting the door and cutting off whatever smart remark she was going to give him. Which is probably a good thing because all of a sudden that scratchy feeling came back and her throat started to burn. 

*** 

“You don’t use… voicemail?” 

“No” 

“Why not?” 

“Pointless,” Bell offered nonchalantly, spearing a sizable chunk of filet mignon and shoving it into his mouth. He chewed with his mouth slightly open, a smirk aimed right at her.

 _Damn that’s sexy,_ she thought and clenched her thighs together forcefully. Her mouth fell open and she gaped at him openly.

He smiled wider.

She took a sip of wine and hid her smile behind her glass. 

“Alright, I’ll bite,” she said playfully. “Why are voicemails pointless?”

“If I wanted to talk to you, why would I leave a message? Why not just call back?”

Kat’s eyes squinted and her eyebrows furrowed together. “That doesn’t make any sense,” she said apprehensively, still confused by his logic… or lack thereof. 

“You sure,” Bell shot back, somehow continuing to perfect the mischievous schoolboy grin playing across his face.

“Yea, I think so.”

“What if I wanted to tell you,” he said, leaning toward her slightly. “What if I wanted to tell you that that the minute I saw you in that dress I forgot how to spell my name?”

“Uh-” Kat stammered and Bell leaned in just a little bit closer.

“Would you rather get a message hours later or hear me say it in enough time to actually do something about it?”

Her throat closed immediately and she wheezed.

“Here,” he said, handing her a glass of water with that grin firmly in place. “Drink this.”

***

“So what are you working on,” he asked, spooning a piece of the tiramisu they were sharing into his mouth.

“I… uh,” she said, finding it hard to concentrate when his tongue snaked out to lick a bit of mascarpone from his lip. “Uh, a little girl… well she was 16,” she began, letting her gaze settle somewhere over his shoulder, recalling all of those pictures of little August through the years. “Cops, M.E., her family… everyone thought she partied too much and just… laid down in the snow one night and died.”

“But she didn’t,” he asked, nudging her hand with the plate. 

“Her mother got a letter in the mail, says something must have gone wrong, because she was heading home to see her.” Kat twirled her spoon in the cooling coffee at the bottom of the bowl; lost somewhere in Amara Brown’s anguish. 

“This case getting to you?”

She looked up suddenly, locking onto his gaze. “How-”

“They get to me,” he said softly, “every parent that comes to see me, begging for justice for the sons and daughters they never got to say goodbye to. I just keep thinking, what if that was my little girl?”

“Exactly,” Kat said, with the kind of feverish despair parents can only share with other parents.

“Any good leads?”

“No,” she said, pushing out a harsh breath and dropping her spoon to the table. 

“Not yet,” he said quickly, a softer grin playing on his lips. He brought his spoon to her mouth. “But you will.”

She parted her lips slowly and he slipped the dessert in.

***

“Well I…” Kat said, turning to face Bell at her door. “That was-”

“Yea,” he said almost wistfully. She dipped her head and smiled.

He stepped closer.

She leaned in slowly, inching up onto the balls of her feet. Her mouth searching.

She thought he was bending down to her, but he stepped back quickly.

“You uh… you better get inside. It’s getting cold,” he said breathlessly.

“Uh.” She was speechless.

“I’ll see you.”

“Uh… yea,” she spluttered.

Kat turned around slowly and slipped her key into the lock. She pushed her door open, stepped inside the apartment building, and felt his grip on her arm. She turned around expectantly.

“I had a really great time tonight,” he said. The emotion in his eyes made her breath catch in her throat.

She opened her mouth to say something. Anything. Or even just take a step forward and pull his mouth to hers, but he was gone, halfway down the steps before she could even think. 

She brought her hands to her stomach and exhaled so loudly she jumped slightly at the sound.

***

She woke up wheezing. Every breath she inhaled felt like someone was rubbing sandpaper over her lungs and each exhale burned so hot, tears spilled down her face into her open mouth.

Miller staggered into the kitchen and threw open her refrigerator. She pulled out her water pitcher, sloshing the liquid into a glass and threw it down her throat.

Most nights Kat Miller slept peacefully. Well as peacefully as any murder cop on the Philly PD could sleep after checking every lock in her apartment twice, making sure her service weapon was at hand, with the safety on. Checking, double checking, and triple checking that Veronica was safe and sound in her bed.

But sometimes, every now and then, she couldn’t leave everything she knew about the world outside when she walked through her front door. Every now and then a mother, so broken from the loss of a child, walked up to her desk and reminded her how fragile life was. And how quickly it could all be taken away.

***

Amara sat by herself at her tiny table, in her tiny kitchen with bright blue tiles and stared, at nothing.

When she met her husband Kenneth they’d talked about starting a family immediately. On the first date, to be exact. And when she got pregnant with August three years later, Amara hadn’t been able to stop smiling. Every new change in her body, every kick, it was all full of joy. And when she was born, in August of course, she was so bright and calm, Amara and Kenneth knew exactly what to name her.

They had three other children after August and Amara loved them all equally. But deep down in her soul she’d always known that August was special. And when she lost her, all those years ago, she finally realized just how special her oldest child was. Just too late to tell her. Too late to make her see.

Seventeen years later and the hole in her soul where August used to be was still fresh and gaping.

She stared down into her coffee cup at the now ice cold liquid and concentrated. If she closed her eyes tight enough she could remember August, smiling, happy, and soaking up the sun, twirling in its rays. It used to be she could hear her daughter’s voice if she did this long enough, but not anymore. The low rumble, _just like her daddy’s,_ and the soft squeak she couldn’t stop when she was excited were like air to Amara. And it’d been almost two decades since she was able to clearly recall the sound.

She inhaled sharply and a loud sob slipped out. Fat tears plopped obscenely into her cup.

Kenneth came bounding from the bedroom and pulled her into his arms.

“Not again,” he whispered wearily. “You can’t… You just can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

But she didn’t hear him. And she didn’t see him.

All she could see was her August breathing her last freezing breath in a pile of snow next to a filthy, stinking dumpster.


	2. Beating

“What’s up with you,” Lilly said.

“Huh… uh, nothing. I’m good. What’cha got?”

After that kiss in the interrogation room with Bell, Miller had been… distracted to say the least. They still hadn’t gone on that second date, but they talked, every day.

He called in the morning when he was running out the door. When he was eating lunch at his desk. Between court appearances. On his way to the city lockup. He called. And called. He’d even left a voicemail or two. Very… inappropriate voice messages.

She loved it. 

She found herself smiling constantly, usually at inappropriate times of the day. It was disconcerting, but it made her feel beautiful. 

She struggled to focus on Rush… and the Brown case.

“Alright, so me and Scotty went to see Kevin Weeks at Faith Restored Baptist Church on First.”

“What’s he say?”

“Same thing he said in the letter. But here’s what he left out…”

Kat’s eyebrows lifted unconsciously as she rose from her chair to perch on the corner of her desk. “He left something out?”

Rush’s smile widened, “The best part. Apparently August had a boyfriend.”

“Did her parents know?”

“No idea. Went by the name of D-Block.”

“Charming.”

“And according to Kevin, D-Block was mad at August. In fact, they got into a fight a few hours before she died.”

“Is that right?”

“Uh huh. And guess what I’ve got here,” Lily teased, waving a case folder in the air.

Kat smiled, “D-Block’s address?” 

“Yep. And guess where it is?" 

“Well with a name like D-Block…”

They shared a laugh as they gathered up their coats and headed for the door.

***

_This is Detective Kat Miller, I’m not able to answer the phone right now, leave a message._

“Hello Detective Miller, this is ADA Bell. I wanted to tell you that I had a dream about you last night. You were wearing a black dress… Tight. Short. Nothing underneath. I was thinking… tonight…” 

“ADA Bell,” Rush said to his back. He snapped his phone shut and spun around.

“Oh hey, Detective Rush. What are you doing here?”

“Seeing a suspect.”

“Yea, anything interesting?” He caught a glimpse of dark hair and round hips at the security checkpoint and shifted his bag in front of his body.

“Maybe,” Lily said, “you wanna sit in,” she said as Miller came to stand by her.

“Detective Miler,” Bell said casually.

“ADA Bell,” Kat said a little too formally.

“So you interested,” Rush said again, already inching towards the interview room. 

“In what,” Bell said, trying hard not to let his eyes wander.

 “The suspect. You wanna sit in?”

“Oh yea,” he said, unconsciously inhaling the sweet scent of her hair. “Ladies first,” he said, ushering the detectives down the corridor.

“Bell, I never pegged you for chivalry,” Rush shot over her shoulder.

He couldn’t see her face, but by the way she ducked her head, he was sure Miller smiled.

 He couldn’t stop his own smile, or resist taking a quick peak at her ass as she marched down the hall.

*** 

D-Block, born Russell Jones, was smaller than Miller or Rush expected. Granted, he seemed to have taken full advantage of the prison’s weight room, but he was short, probably just under 5’6”.

It was hard to imagine him as some baby faced 17-year-old, with pretty eyes and an easy smile that all the girls in the neighborhood whispered about. He wasn’t that little boy anymore anyway. Now he was a hardened, jaded career criminal who grew out his facial hair to hide what remained of that pudgy baby face that probably still melted his mother’s heart. Despite the felonies.

“So… D-Block,” Rush said dismissively. “Let’s talk about August Brown.”

Rush and Miller sat at the table across from D-Block while Bell stood, seemingly disinterested, by the door, within Jones’s vision. Just in case. 

“What about her?”

“The night she died, we heard you two had a big fight,” Miller shot at him.

“I don’t remember that.”

“No? You don’t remember telling her,” Rush said, glancing at the notebook in front of her, “that you’d kill her if she disrespected you again.”

The implications of this conversation started to dawn on D-Block. “Hey, I didn’t kill her. That’s just… you know… a figure of speech. Didn’t her dumb ass just lay down in the snow and die,” he said hurriedly.

Bell guffawed loudly. 

“I didn’t kill her,” he repeated lamely.

“So what happened that night then,” Rush asked gently.

“She broke up with me,” he said like a humiliated teenager. “She said she was too good for me.” 

“And what happened after that,” Miller nudged.

“We argued. But last time I saw her she was alive.”

“Last time you saw her? When was that,” Miller asked, attempting to reign in her excitement.

D-Block sat up straighter and pressed his lips together.

“Nothing to say,” Rush asked playfully. “When are you out of here? Six months? I’d hate to have to ask the DA about giving you another charge." 

“For what,” he exploded. “I told you, I didn’t kill her.”

“Yea, you say that,” Bell said, “But who’s gonna believe you. Look at you. You scream girlfriend killer." 

“What?”

“I mean your rap sheet doesn’t set the mind at ease: assault, domestic, robbery, assault, assault. Come on, not exactly Good Samaritan material are you?”

“You aint gonna pin this on me. I didn’t do nothing,” he cried, attempting to rise from his seat.

“Sit down,” Miller boomed and he obeyed.

“Tell us what you saw,” Rush said evenly after a moment.

“Alright, I saw her leave, but she ain’t leave alone.”

“Who’d she leave with?" 

“That little punk, Pooty.” 

“Pooty?”

“Yea, uh… Phil… Phil Stephens. He was always running after her. Trying to get with her. But she wasn’t into him like that. He was like her kid brother, you know? He was just too stupid to get it.”

 “Phillip Stephens was at the party that night with August?”

“Yea.”

“And what, you just let your girl leave with some other guy,” Rush asked.

“ _Ex_ -girl. She broke up with me remember.” 

“And you were magically ok with that,” Miller asked, disbelief dripping from her voice.

“I didn’t care. Hooked up with another girl right after they left. Forgot all about August. She couldn’t fuck worth a damn anyway,” he boasted.

***

“So Phillip Stephens didn’t just _happen_ to find August,” Rush said contemplatively.

They were standing in the parking lot outside of the prison. The bright sun felt like a spotlight after the darkness of the prison.

Miller was trying to pay attention to Rush’s musings, but Bell was standing next to her. Just a little too close for comfort. Her hands flinched unconsciously and brushed against Bell’s. Her skin tingled where they touched.

“I’m gonna bring him in, you coming,” Rush said. “Miller? Miller?” 

“Huh… yea… what?”

“You alright?” 

“Yea… I just… it’s too early in the morning for that kind of sleaze,” she said, motioning toward the prison. “What’s up?”

“I said I’m gonna go pick up Phillip Stephens. You coming?” 

“Oh, yea.”

“Thanks for your help in there Bell,” Rush said, opening the driver’s side door.

“Yea, thanks,” Miller said, finally making eye contact with him.

“No problem,” he replied, licking his lips. 

“Alright well, see ya.” Miller turned quickly on her heels to walk around the car. 

He grabbed her wrist, “Kat.”

“Yea,” she said, staring at his warm hand as his fingers laced between hers.

“Check your messages.” He untangled their fingers, turned away and strode quickly to his car.

***

“What was that about,” Rush asked when Miller slipped into the car.

“Huh? Oh… uh… nothing. He just… said something about the uh… case I’m testifying in next week.”

“Oh yea… that." 

Rush turned the key in the ignition and fought the urge to smile.

Miller reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone.

_1 new voice message_

She closed her eyes at the sound of his voice.

***

The first snowfall of the winter was always the hardest for Amara.

When she was young she loved snow. The way it fell softly in her hair. The crunch under her feet. The way it shined in the bright sun.

And she just loved bundling her babies up to play in it. Most parents would send their kids out of the house, happy for the few moments of quiet. Not Amara. She raced outside to be with them. To experience everything with them. Before they left.

From the minute they took their first breath, Amara wanted to make the most of every moment she had with her babies, before they were grown and out of the house. Before they didn’t need her anymore. But she’d always planned on having those 18 years. Those full 18 years. And she’d been cheated with August.

God had robbed her of those precious two years with her baby. And all of the years after that. 

Amara sat in her comfortable chair by the window and watched the snowflakes drift to the ground. She saw a young mother walking by with her daughter. The little girl was trying to keep pace with her mother and catch snowflakes on her tongue.

Amara pretended for a second that it was her August. That that was her grandbaby with August’s dark, brooding eyes. That none of this had ever happened. That this wasn’t her life. That somewhere she was alive; August, _my August,_ was still alive.

She closed her eyes and found comfort in the illusion.


	3. Rise

“You lied to the police in ’92,” Miller said as she paced behind Phillip Stephens in the interrogation room.

“What are you talking about,” he said, his voice trembling almost as violently as his body.

In 1992, Phillip Stephens had been a fresh faced 15-year-old in love with August Brown, the pretty girl down the street. He’d loved her the way every young boy loves the girl who shouldn’t even know he’s alive but is nice enough to wave at him when they see each other on the street. And when August started hanging with a new crew she hadn’t ignored him, but she wasn’t his August anymore. He loved her still.

“I didn’t… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You didn’t tell police that you were at the party with August that night,” Rush said forcefully. “Why? What were you trying to hide?”

“I… I…”

“See I think you went to the party to see her. And when you found out she broke up with D-Block you that that was your chance. But she wasn’t interested,” Miller said.

“And when she turned you down, you couldn’t handle it. So you hit her…” Rush conjectured.

“No… that’s not what happened.”

“You hit her hard,” Rush continued as Miller slammed a crime scene picture of August on the table in front of him. He gagged.

“See that bruise on her head,” Miller asked. “In ’92 everyone thought she’d got messed up and just laid down and died. They weren’t looking for foul play so they didn’t think anything about this bruise.”

“M.E. now thinks that August was hit… hard on the back. That’s what happened isn’t it,” Rush asked.

“She didn’t lay down and die,” Miller said, barely controlling her anger. “You hit her and then left her there to die by a dumpster.”

“You didn’t love her at all.”

“That’s not true,” he screamed. “I loved her and she… she didn’t… I just wanted to make her see. I didn’t know she was going to die. I went back to the alley to make sure she was gone-”

“But she wasn’t. She was right there where you left her.”

“I called the police.”

“Yea hours later. Way too late to do anything,” Miller said, her anger giving way to sadness. She couldn’t take it anymore. She threw open the door and marched out. Past Scotty and Valens and Jeffries and right past the Lieutenant.

She walked, hardly knowing where she was headed. Or if she even had a destination in mind. She might have kept walking for who knows how long but he grabbed her, he had a habit of doing that, and pulled her into an open interview room.

***

“I can’t-” she said, walking as far away from him as the room would let her. “I can’t-”

She was close to tears, pulling in huge gulps of air, one after another, willing her throat to stop burning and her heart to slow.

“What happened,” he said, with his back against the door, giving her space.

“We… we closed the case. The Brown case. And I don’t know why but I just… I just-”

She braced her back against the wall, staring off into space.

Bell crossed the room slowly, stopping just a few inches from her. He reached a hand out slowly, stroking his thumb across her cheek. She closed her eyes and leaned into the warm pressure of his hand.

She reached out to rest a hand on his chest. He grasped it and pulled it up to his lips, kissing her fingers softly. He slipped his hands behind her neck and pulled her to him.

Kat didn’t know when they became this… close. When they became something serious. The soft stroking of his hand on her back, the slowing of her beating heart, and the way her breath evened the minute she was in his harms terrified her.

But she reveled in it nonetheless. Just for the moment.

***

August’s second funeral was much different than the first. At least Amara thought it was, but she only barely remembered what that day was like, when she buried her baby the first time.

That day 17 years ago she couldn’t feel anything, except the pain. And the spreading hole in her heart.

Everyone said it would get better… well easier. She just had to let herself feel it. And then one day she’d start to heal.

But it hadn’t quite worked out like that. The grief she felt only deepened the longer she had to live without her August.

And when she got that letter, she thought _maybe this is what I’ve been waiting for, to know what really happened to my baby._ And she was sure that when she knew who did this she’d hate him. She’d channel all those years of pain into hating the person who destroyed her life.

But she didn’t.

Knowing that her baby was on her way home did something to her.

Standing in front of her daughter’s grave, on a warm sunny day, Amara Brown, felt nothing. Or… to be more exact, she felt release. And while it wasn’t quite healing, somehow, when she woke up this morning, it was easier to breathe.

*** 

“Mrs. Brown,” Miller said. 

“Amara,” she said, tearing her eyes away from her daughter’s grave to look at Miller. “You found out what really happened to my baby, Detective. I would be honored if you called me Amara.”

“Amara. I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am for your loss.”

 “My loss.” Amara smiled ruefully. “It’s funny, that’s not what it feels like today. Do you have children detective?”

“Kat. You can call me Kat. And yea, a daughter, Veronica.”

“Well I’m sure I don’t have to tell you this, but cherish it. Every minute you have with her,” she said, her eyes slipping back to the grave.

Something in the pit of Miller’s stomach bottomed out and she inhaled deeply through her noise, suppressing the urge to grip her throat, as she struggled for air 

“Ah, I didn’t mean it like that,” Amara said, reaching out to grip Kat’s shoulder with her thin fingers. “I never got over losing my baby not just because she died so suddenly, but because I could never forgive myself for giving up on her. That’s what I did you know. When it got too hard, when I looked at my girl and didn’t see the daughter I raised anymore, I gave up. I started grieving for her before she was ever even gone.”

Kat reached out to grasp Amara’s hand, attempting to comfort her.

“So don’t do what I did,” the older woman said sadly. “Don’t give up until you’ve done everything. Don’t give up… until the very last breath.”

***

She could hear her phone ringing but she couldn’t tear her eyes from Veronica, sleeping in her bed.

She checked all of the locks three times just to be sure. She checked her weapon. And for the past ten minutes she calmed her frayed nerves by watching her daughter sleep.

The phone stopped ringing.

Kat could still hear Amara’s voice in her head. _“…until the very last breath.”_

The alarm indicating a voice message sounded and she finally closed the door, satisfied that her daughter was safe and sound.

Settling onto the sofa, under a soft comforter, Kat flipped open her phone.

_1 new voice message._

Kat,” Bell’s voice rang. “I wasn’t joking about that dress. It was really short. Strappy. And I checked last night. Yep, absolutely nothing underneath. Call me back if you’ve got anything that matches that description.”

She could hear the smile in his voice and her stomach clenched painfully.

But her lungs were just fine.


End file.
